a purchase of sugar or coffee here and an
article of clothing there (page 271). Always
there is the pleasureful business of surprises
for the children at home-little sacks of candy
or a bag of peanuts.
Later, the day gives itself over to the court
ing. Young men and women pause shyly to
visit and stroll with each other. If the weather
is good, there will be a street dance in the
evening for the young, while mothers sit and
watch from the sidewalk cafes, and the men
go to the inside handball court to watch and
bet on their favorite pilotari in this time
honored game that is believed to have orig
inated with the Basques. Out of this sport
was born the game of jai alai, which is still
dominated by Basque athletes in Europe and
the Americas.
In all, market day in the Basque country is
business and pleasure and song entwined
leisurely one with another.
The Basques have a score of songs for every
occasion-the gay tunes of festival time, the
melancholy songs of farewell, the angelus
Eagle eye and lightning reflex send a jai
alai ball hurtling toward a wall in Guernica,
Spain. The sport grew from the Basque vil
lagers' handball game called pilota. Each
player wears an elongated wicker scoop
with which he catches and returns the ball.
after Mass, when men's deep voices pour
down from the galleries with the almost
irreverent gusto of a sea chantey.
To me, it was a source of constant surprise
and delight to be exploring some mountain
and to hear in the distance the clear tenor of
a young shepherd singing an air without
words at the top of his lungs. Or to hear a
group of youngsters singing as they walked
homeward down a country lane. Or to pause
to listen to my youngest daughter and her
little playmates amusing themselves on our
front step by singing together.
This tradition of perpetual song is some
times puzzling to the visitor. Once we went
to the Spanish Province of Navarra with my
cousins to participate in the feast of San Fer
min at Pamplona, an old town whose name in
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